This fic is a version of "Darth Rubra", by "Capitanias". It's a Brazilian fic of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, written and published about ten years ago. I found this story by researching a few things to read. I found it very interesting, although I would change some things. I got in touch with the author. She took a long time to answer, but when she returned the message, we exchanged some ideas. I said I interested in making a version, maybe an adaptation for Glee. She authorized it as long as I placed all the credits owed. This is the first time I make a version of a fic. Let's see what will happen. So, here we are. Enjoy.
…
I felt my body falling limp in the air. I could see each fold of the fabric of my fluttering clothing in the wind. I could hear and feel it touching my skin. Nothing beyond the air were touching my body. My arms were open. It was like back then I was a child. I used to play with my friends and when I scored the point, I would go out celebrating with open arms, running in a zigzag. It was a good feeling, of imbalance, of falling and not falling at the same time, of the wind hitting my face and lifting my hair. It was the closest to flying without machines in my childish perception.
My memory vanished with the impact on the ground. I felt the air leave my lungs. I concentrated on the work of bringing the precious invisible into me. It was with pain that the oxygen returned to my body. As it broke every barrier in its path, I saw the world regain its speed. It got faster and faster. The dust danced lightly in the air, the leaves were already on the ground, the iron taste of my blood was bittering my mouth, the sound of the environment stole the gracious sound of the wind.
Then I could hear the footsteps coming toward me. One, two, three, four, five, and a shadow covered my face. I could see the owner bringing the tip of her noble blue-colored weapon close to my neck. I could feel the heat of the energy emanating from the saber nipping and burning my sensitive skin. There was nothing left to do. I've lost.
"End of the line, Snixx." I heard her voice echoing in my mind. "You died here."
It wasn't the sound of her victory, and it bothered me. I wasn't her triumph. I was her resignation. The pain in her voice ached more than the cuts in my flesh, than my tired body. I didn't answer. I closed my eyes and waited for my opponent's mercy. That she would end my misfortune right there in a quick and precise blow. Let my enemy slay my neck and deliver me without pain from a life full of sufferings. But that would never happen because my death would represent guilt and her complete failure.
Isn't it ironic? Anyone who had the ability to defeat me would announce this as a rare trophy of the most complex competition. But not her. I heard the flash of the gun being picked up and then the strong hands turning my body, pulling my arms back. Within seconds, she linked my two wrists together and I had become a prisoner.
…
I don't remember exactly the first time I saw her, because it's like she's always been a part of my life. I'm tired of hearing my father tell the same story dozens of times. I was three and I was playing with my dolls. My mother instructed the maids about the lunch menu while the droids worked on housekeeping. That's when my dad came home holding hands with her. He called us and told us the news.
From that moment we would have a new member in the family. Her parents were employees of the miner where my father was one of the owners, and they had died in an accident. Because of this, her destiny would be the adoption or tutelage of the government. Both options were unknown. My father didn't want her to remain in the hands of strangers, or forgotten in the orphanage because there they wouldn't know how to work the full potential she had. That's why my father brought her into our house.
She was only a year older than me. Her first contact with the new family was very shy. Daddy told her she was hiding behind his legs, too afraid. That's when I approached her and showed a doll. I asked if she wanted to play and she accepted. We spent all day in my room playing with the dolls and from there we became sisters.
Mom hated the situation from the first moment. She knew it wasn't charity or altruism on the part of her husband. She knew my father was involved in strange business. The fact that her husband had sheltered her in our house was related to a very specific situation, to an agenda. What did a four-year-old girl have to do with Dad's business? My mother certainly knew what it was, but whatever it really was, she hid it very well. She swallowed the pride and discomfort to accept it in part.
I say in part because the life of my foster sister has never been easy. My mother found an easy target to discount her frustration and mistreated my sister on a regular basis. Even when Dad decided to make official her adoption, the treatment Mother gave her didn't improve. I remember the little room where she slept near the droids' yard, I remember how she couldn't dine with us, I remember the times when my mother didn't hesitate to weigh her hand over my sister's body for the most banal motives.
Dad always hated my mother's rudeness against her, so he tried to make up for the humiliation and shouted with some attention. And how they got along! Daddy understood my sister better than he ever did with me. What about me? Understand that I was a child, so it took a while to get why my sister's room wasn't the same as mine, because she can't attend the parties of the richer and more important families, or even because my mother was always punishing her.
It was nice to have her at home. Because I was kind of impulsive, I used to get myself into trouble and chased by the older kids in school. It would be worse if I didn't have her around to defend me. She fought for me when necessary, and took care of me almost the entire time. We were always together. I invented great jokes that colored her world. She, on the other hand, helped with her studies. As we grew older, I came to protect her from my mother. The ghosts of the force know how I loved my sister, my protector. Ghosts of the force know how I hated her.